I'm Sorry
by Bellatrixforevermore
Summary: Hermione is abused at home, and she is slowly reaching a breaking point. When she becomes Head Girl, and Harry becomes Head Boy, will Harry find out? Will Harry abuse Hermione? What do Sirius Black, Ron Weasley, and Draco Malfoy have to say about this? Read to find out!


Greetings, readers! This is a bit similar to my other story, The Bed Sheets, but I didn't like how it turned out, and I wasn't sure if I should continue. Hope you enjoy!

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Hermione POV

"I-I'm sorry, mother!" I whimpered, hoping she would let go of me.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP, BITCH! LOOK AT ALL WE HAVE DONE FOR YOU, AND THIS IS HOW YOU THANK US?! YOU FUCKING SLEEP UNTIL SEVEN IN THE MORNING?!" my mother roared, squeezing my neck even more forcefully.

I gasped from the cutoff in oxygen, and repeated my apology. She didn't even seem to hear me.

"WHAT THE FUCK DID I JUST SAY?!"

"For me to shut the fuck up," I barely made out, my eyes fluttering.

"DID I JUST HEAR YOU CURSE?" she shrieked, her mad voice blocking out any surrounding noises.

"Y-y-you are n-never w-wrong m-m-mother," I stuttered, grasping onto consciousness and wishing she would stop.

"THAT'S IT! SINCE YOUR MOUTH IS DIRTY ANYWAY, I BET YOU WOULDN'T MIND HOLDING YOUR FATHER'S COCK IN IT!"

I couldn't even think straight, so I decided simply agreeing was the best way out.

"Yes, mother."

My mother let go of my abused neck, but not before using it to slam my body against the wall one more time. I watched her blurry form leave before completely passing out.

* * *

 _"What on earth is that god-awful smell?"_ I thought sleepily to myself, before blearily cracking open an eye. I panicked to see my father's face hovering directly above mine, his breath smelling strongly of alcohol.

"Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to awaken from her lazy slumber," my father spat, his face wrinkling into a nasty sneer. I remained silent, avoiding eye contact and hoping he decided he didn't "feel like" beating me up.

"Are you ready to get fucked, whore?" he whispered, his lips brushing against mine. Fighting the urge to recoil in disgust, I replied with an answer that I prayed he would accept.

"I-I am r-ready to do a-anything you say, f-f-father."

"That's the way I like it. Wanting to get fucked so bad that the whore is begging her father to have sex with her," he said, before finally bringing his lips down to mine in a quick, brash movement that I despised so much.

I lay there, cold and emotionless, as his mouth devoured every part of my body as he ripped away my clothes, and finally stopped his dirty mouth at my vagina. Without pausing to take a break, he quickly slid himself into me, and I felt my dry walls feebly protest as his hard penis entered me over and over again. I was to used to this procedure to feel pain, to feel disgusted, or to feel anything. I learned that the best way to deal with situations is to put on a mask, and keep the walls securing my secrets far stronger than the ones that were stretched so often.

My father began to sweat profusely, and his breathing turned into short pants. Right before he was about to come, he slid his penis into my mouth and forced me to swallow the vile liquid. He finally collapsed on top of me, and I remained silent. As usual.

"How can something so disgusting, so ugly, and so fat be so good at sex?" he rhetorically asked me, before finally pulling up his pants and returning to the kitchen.

"Clean it up, whore!" he shouted as I lay motionless on the bed. I quickly removed myself from the bed and bit back the urge to vomit as I picked up his sperm-covered shirt, and made my way to the one room no one ever entered.

The laundry.

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As I washed the clothes by hand (there was no reason to have to buy a washing machine when they have 'a bitch like me' to do it for them), my thoughts began to wander.

The aftermath of the rape was always the worst. Because then, then I began feeling emotion once more, and have to fight back the tears filling my eyes to make sure I show 'no fucking weakness' in this house. After I finally finished, I took a shower and crawled into bed.

Yet I found no peace, and the fact my father was entering the room didn't help.

As he screamed at me for a while, he said that screaming made him horny and he had to have sex. He pounced upon me, and I wished he would one day come to me and apologize. But that will never happen. I have never, in my entire life, heard the words, "I'm sorry," come out of my parents' lips that was sincere.

No, I was the only sorry one.

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So, what do you think? Tell me if I should continue this story, or go die in a hole and delete this story. I need your help with this groundbreaking decision!


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